


Sweat

by DirtyKnots



Series: Kinktober 2017 [19]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Comeplay, De-Aged Derek Hale, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rimming, Scent Kink, Sweat, musk kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 03:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/pseuds/DirtyKnots
Summary: Kinktober 2017 - Day 19: OlfactophiliaPrompt: jd07201990 said: Ohai!! Your work is apocalyptically stunning! So detailed and perfectly Smutty!!! I dunno if you're still doing prompts, but I'd like to pass one along =] I'd love to see a story where Derek becomes young Derek again, leaving him the epitome of sweaty smelly jockboy. Stiles can't help himself and is all over him, despite knowing the spell or curse could end anytime. And Derek becomes cocky and dominant with him, liking the tongue baths and worship and rough sex Stiles offers willingly.





	Sweat

Stiles opens the door and can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes through his nose.

“Again? Seriously?”

“What? I…” Derek - or, at least a version of Derek, is standing on the Stilinski's porch looking way out of place. He's fifteen again and clearly confused.

“Come in, Derek.” Stiles moves out of the doorway, gestures inside, though he can see Derek stiffen.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?” Stiles thanks his head against the door jamb and let’s out another, much more annoyed sigh.

“Better question: why are you here?” He barrels on, not letting Derek speak. “Rhetorical. I know why. You followed your nose, right? Familiar smells overlaid by your own scent. You know me, you can trust me - you do trust me.” Stiles’ heartbeat doesn't skip and he watches as Derek realizes that, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “So, where'd you wake up this time?”

“This time? This has happened before?”

“Yeah, a couple years ago.” Stiles flops onto the sofa and Derek settles next to him, though with far more caution.

“I don't remember that.”

“You wouldn't. Not you at this age anyhow. It happened to regular you. Adult you.”

“Adult...how old am I?”

“Twenty-four.” Stiles watches Derek's eyes go wide before he shakes himself, face turned towards his lap. Stiles can't stop himself from leaning over and nudging his shoulder. “Where were you? It'll maybe help us figure out how to fix this.”

“I was at,” Derek swallows hard and his body slumps and Stiles has a good guess as to what he's going to say. “At...my...where my house used to be. Before she burned it down.” It's Stiles' turn to be surprised, because the last time Derek was this age, it was before the fire. Who or whatever caused this de-aging apparently didn't need the version of Derek that didn't know about betrayal. 

“Hey, I - I'm sorry you had to be back there. Do you remember anything from before you woke up?” Derek shakes his head, his eyes glassy when he looks up. “Okay, it's alright. We'll figure it out.” He doesn't stop himself from reaching out and drawing Derek into a hug, is surprised that young Derek allows it. This version can't be more than a few months out from losing his family in a fire to someone he trusted and thought he loved, but he lets Stiles hold him anyhow as he sniffles and regains his composure.

“Who are you, anyhow?” Derek draws himself back upright where he's sitting, Stiles’ arms falling away, tears dried up.

“I'm your emissary, Stiles.” He sticks his hand out but Derek just raises his brows.

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

“Funny wolf. Really, hilarious.” Stiles gives his own glare and huffs as he stands from the couch. “I'm going to go text the rest of the pack, let them know what happened. Or...you know, as much as I can. We'll figure it out, get you back to your normal self.”

***

The thing is...they don't. They can't seem to figure out what caused Derek to regress to his angsty teen self, there's no signs of anything weird, nothing comes after them. There aren't any clues to work with aside from an increasingly social fifteen year old boy. That's one thing that differs, the way Derek seems to open up and relax with each new day. Their Derek isn't like this. Or...he is with them, but it took years. It's weird, if Stiles is honest about it. Which he is. And says so a lot.

By the time a week has passed with no change, the pack is getting restless. So is Stiles’ dad who insists they're going to have to do something other than keep Derek cooped up in the house. He goes against everything Stiles expected when he helps fabricate a cover story about Derek being an exchange student and getting him some fake records, a falsified ID with a new last name.

“Stiles, he can't stay here all day. Classes are starting tomorrow, he's got to go with you guys until you can fix him, if you even can.” John put his foot down about it and no amount of arguing or sputtering was changing his mind. Stiles’ eyes narrowed at the smug grin Derek gave him from behind his father's back.

***

It's hell. Stiles hates it. Absolutely detests having teen Derek in his house, in his space, sharing his classes, trying out for lacrosse. He hates it and he dares anyone to try and say otherwise. It's been a month of this teen werewolf invasion of his life and all he wanted was a fairly mellow senior year. But now he's got to deal with all of this and it's…

“Bullshit, Scott. That's what it is. This was supposed to be my year, finally. I worked my ass off for my spot off the bench, I was ready for everything, and now he's there, all the time. He's starting and I'm-”

“You're still starting, Stiles. Come on. It's not that bad.”

“Says you.” 

“You know he can probably hear you right? He's a born wolf, his hearing is better than mine.”

“Good, then he can hear me when I say that if he eats my leftovers when we get home again, I'm going to stuff his jock full of wolfsbane.” Stiles glares at the other side of the field where it's blatantly obvious Derek is listening in, one eyebrow up, challenging expression on his face.

Coach ends practice an hour later and Stiles rushes through cleaning up and changing, rushes home. He crashes through the door and the hall and then slumps against the kitchen door frame. Derek is sitting at the table, Stiles’ leftovers nearly gone, smirking around a bite of food.

“Did you run here after practice?” Stiles is equal parts pissed and impressed by this level of petty.

“Yep.” Derek pops his p the way Stiles usually does before scooping up the last bite and forking it into his mouth. Stiles’ eyes narrowed as Derek leans back in the chair, rubbing his belly and smacking his lips, beads of sweat rolling down his face still from practice and the mad dash to beat Stiles home. He can feel his lip curl as he stalks over, finger jabbing against Derek's chest, the jersey underneath it soaked with sweat.

“You are a grade A, certifiable douchebag.” Derek just huffs a laugh, like he finds Stiles amusing, raising his arms to prop behind his head, back arching a little. Stiles’ nostrils flare as the smell of Derek's sweat watts from his pits, and he does his best to maintain his anger and not let anything slip through. Because he hates this Derek. A lot. All the time. Except when he doesn't. 

It's been a month of fighting back the urge to bury his face against Derek's body because teenage Derek? He fucking reeks. Grown Derek must have had some immaculate self care routine, because he never smelled so...enticing. Stiles knows it's weird, okay? He knows he shouldn't be amped up by the stink of unwashed boy - but he is. He knows he shouldn't be looking at this fifteen year old who'd already been taken advantage of by one older person, but he can't help it. He's been fighting off inappropriate reactions for a month, a goddamn month, and it's harder every day.

Derek doesn't miss the shift. Stiles doesn't know how he managed to keep it a secret for a month if he's honest, not with Derek living underfoot. Derek's gaze goes a little hooded as he shifts in his chair, arms lifting higher, legs spreading. Stiles’ finger is still pressing against his wet jersey. Derek's nostrils flare as he takes in the change in Stiles’ scent, picks up the arousal seeping into it. And Stiles...he's tired. Tired of fighting it and tired of latching onto tiny scraps of anger and forcing them to grow to hide his increasing attraction. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and his hand uncurls, palm stretching out to clutch at the jersey as he drops his face down, burying his nose in the damp curls in Derek's pit. 

Stiles huffs in deep breaths, hairs tickling the inside of his nose. The smell is overwhelming this close, he feels dizzy with it. It's nothing at all to open his mouth, let his tongue lave an even wetter patch, dragging through hair to reach skin. His mouth opens wider and he digs his tongue down, sucking in a mouthful of skin and sweat-matted hair, moaning at the concentrated taste. He can hear Derek echoing his moan, can feel it when Derek reaches over with his other hand, cups the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb sweeping over skin as he encourages Stiles to press his mouth in tighter.

“That's it baby, take what you need.” It should be weird, hearing this boy who's younger than him calling him baby, but it feels right. Stiles makes another soft noise as he rubs his face against the dark curls spreading the scent over his own skin before drawing back. He doesn't move far, just shifts a step to the side so he can drop down into Derek's lap. As soon as his ass meets Derek's thighs, he's raising Derek's other arm up, shoving his face into his damp pit, bathing it with his tongue. He's rocking in Derek's lap, satisfied for the moment with the hardness pressing against his ass, with the sweetly rank smell filling his nostrils. It isn't long before Derek yanks his face free, drags him into a desperate kiss, sucking on Stiles’ tongue harshly, fangs sliding out to nip at his lips.

They're breathing heavy, panting into each other's mouths. Stiles fingers are rubbing and squeezing over the jersey, wetting his hands with the soaked in sweat. He's hard and leaking in his pants, can feel Derek is the same beneath him. It takes only a little effort to let go of his jersey, to slide off his lap. Derek makes a wounded sound but Stiles just shushes him, grabs his hand.

“Upstairs. We should...yeah.”

He leads Derek to the guest room that Derek's been sleeping in, allows himself to take deep breaths through his nose, the smells strong even with human senses. Sweat and old come and the faintest whiffs of gas and piss. The bed sheets, when they land on them, are especially pungent. Stiles wants to bury his face in the bedding, but he resists for now. There's somewhere else he'd like to put his face first. Stiles slides to his knees in front of the bed, hands rubbing over Derek's things as he moves them up to curl over the waistband of his lacrosse shorts.

“This okay?” Derek nods, raising his hips so Stiles can drag the shorts down his legs. Stiles licks his lips as Derek's jock-covered cock pops into sight, the material yellowed and stained by sweat. He lets the shorts drop to the floor and then leans up on his knees, nuzzling against the jock, mouthing over the bulge and sucking lightly. His hands slide beneath Derek's ass, and Stiles tries to keep his face against Derek's crotch as he grips had and yanks Derek forward a few inches so that his ass is hanging off the bed. He wraps his fingers around the straps of the jock and reluctantly pulls it off. 

He gives himself a minute to indulge in Derek's now freed cock, tongue pushing beneath his foreskin, lapping at the precome dribbling from his slit, rolling around the head to gather up crusty sweat and old come, moaning at the explosion of flavors across his tongue. When he's cleaned out as much as he can, Derek fruitlessly trying to thrust into his mouth, he pops off. Derek growls and Stiles laughs.

“Just wait.” He smirks up at Derek, pleased by the lust and irritation warring on Derek's face. Stiles pushes at Derek's thighs, spreading them wider and hooking them over his shoulders, pulling Derek forward another inch. He nuzzles the base of Derek's cock even as his fingers dip down, spreading his meaty cheeks apart. He can see the hair between them, matted and tangled with sweat, crusty with it. He takes a few deep breaths as he pushes his face into Derek's cleft, eyes watering at the dank scent.

“Fuck, you really like it don't you?” Derek's voice is muffled as his thighs tighten around Stiles’ head, unnecessarily holding him in place. Wiry hair brushes against his lips as he answers in the affirmative. It's even better when he starts licking his way through Derek's cleft, taste and scent overwhelming him as he mouths across the skin and hair. He pushes his tongue past the tight rim of Derek's pucker so he can suck on his hole, groaning as it opens for him. The small puffs of gas washing over his tongue as Derek whines and writhes above him spurring him on. He loses track of time, feels his face dampening with sweat from them both, his chin soaked by his own spit, face rubbing raw between Derek's cheeks.

Eventually though, Derek manages to get a grip on him, hauls Stiles up and presses him into the mattress, licking the taste of his ass off of Stiles’ face while he fumbles in his bedside table. He lifts himself up, bottle of lube clutched in his hand and smirks as he gropes Stiles hardened cock through his pants. 

“Turn over.” It's easy to obey, to roll to his belly. He's reaching beneath himself to undo his pants when he feels pinpricks against his ass, through his jeans. They're quickly followed by a loud tearing as Derek rips through the seat of them, his briefs too, and then cool air is washing over his exposed ass.

“Dick, I liked these jeans.” He's not as mad as he thinks he should be.

“Too bad. Ass up, Stiles.” Derek's words may sound confident, but Stiles can hear the tremor in his voice, the worry that he'll be denied. As if Stiles would say no. He doesn't bother trying to break the illusion, just raises to his knees, legs spreading and back arching as he presents his now exposed hole. Derek works fast, drizzling cold lube over his crack and then spearing in first with one finger, then two, spreading and twisting them. He lets Stiles adjust through the burn and then pushes another finger in, finding Stiles’ prostate and pushing at it until he's crying out, trapped cock leaking into the front of his ruined pants. Derek pulls his fingers free just before Stiles can come and Stiles has to bite back a sob. 

“Just wait.” The tone is slightly mocking, an echo of Stiles’ earlier words. He can feel the bed shift as Derek moves off of it briefly before climbing back on, thighs snugging up tight against the backs of Stiles’. He can hear the slick sounds of Derek lubing his cock, can't stop himself from wiggling his ass in anticipation. Derek laughs low and dark before tilting forward, letting his cock slap down on Stiles’ hole. When Stiles cries out, he laughs and repeats the action a few times before shifting again. It takes Stiles a second to register that Derek's hand has moved up in front of his face, the jockstrap clenched tight in it. 

“Open up.” Stiles opens his mouth, let's Derek finger the material into his mouth, feels the biting edge of elastic as Derek slips one of the straps over his head to keep it in place. “Fuck, you're so hot like this. So needy for me.”

Stiles can only nod, whining around the sweaty cloth as Derek moves back up onto his knees, lining his cock up finally and pushing in with one smooth stroke. Stiles loses himself then, feeling Derek pounding away at his ass, fingers gripped tight over his hips while he suckled on Derek's dirty jock. His cock is rubbing harshly against the inside of his jeans and when he tries to free it, his hand gets slapped away.

“Not yet. Didn't know, had no idea how filthy you were Stiles. Such a dirty little fucker aren't you.” Stiles gasps around the jock in his mouth, because that isn't the voice he's gotten used to - the voice he'd finally admitted he didn't want to give up. No, this is the Derek he's known for two years speaking. His instinct is to pull away, to hide, because he knew he shouldn't have given in, shouldn't have taken advantage. He thinks he might be mumbling this around his stuffed full mouth when Derek just laughs and shoves in hard, stilling.

“It's okay, don't worry. Gonna take care of you. Gonna give you what you need whenever you want it. Let you use that dirty little tongue to clean me up, let you suck on my nasty cock, put your face between my cheeks and let you spend the night snug against my asshole. You're gonna fucking reeks of me Stiles, gonna let everyone know who you belong to.” Derek starts thrusting again, harder and faster, one hand yanking Stiles’ jeans open to stroke his cock, the other pushing against the jock, digging it further into his mouth. As his balls tightening and draw up, Derek drives in one last time, both of them spilling together and collapsing against the mattress.

Eventually, Derek softens, his cock slipping free of Stiles’ hole in a wash of come. It soaks Stiles’ pants and the bedding beneath them, makes Stiles remember to slip the jockstrap from off his head, out of his dry mouth. 

“Derek, I -” Stiles has to clear his throat, body parched, as he tries to continue. Derek shifts off the bed, and Stiles turns his face to watch him, trying to speak still.

“I don't want to hear it,” Stiles’ heart stutters but Derek just steps up next to his head, “clean up your mess.” Stiles’ eyes go wide as Derek rubs his softened cock over Stiles’ lips. One brow is up in question and Stiles knows he can say no, that Derek will step back, that they'll push this all aside like it never happened. It's all there in his face, that they can pretend that Stiles never touched him, that Derek didn't touch him back. He thinks about it, for a flash of a second, thinks about going back to holding all of this inside, the way he'd expected to whenever he thought about them fixing Derek. And then he opens up his mouth and sucks the taste of his ass off of Derek's cock, nibbles at his foreskin.

Stiles can see the release of tension as he gives in, gives them both what they want. Derek doesn't let him clean his cock fully, just smirks as he pulls Stiles off and crawls over him to sprawl on the bed. Derek drags Stiles across the dirty bedding, pushes Stiles’ face back into his pit, knowing there's a fresh sheen of sweat there for him to breathe in. He uses his free hand to drag Stiles’ leg over his lap, sliding it up until it brushes over his leaking hole, fingertips pressing the come back inside. Stiles makes a happy sound, snuffling into Derek's pit a little tighter. He knows Derek meant every filthy word he'd uttered near the end, and he can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [DreamWidth](https://dirtyknots.dreamwidth.org/), all of my additional contact information can be found there or on my [Profile Page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/profile) here (including where you can leave me prompts of your own)!


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